A Friend in Need
by Janie Canuck
Summary: Booth is abducted. Can Brennan and the squints figure out where he's been taken and why?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own "BONES" or any of its characters; I'm just taking them all out for a little spin. FOX…please think of this as the sincerest form of flattery…. I love your show enough to want to write about it…

Chapter 1

Dr. Temperance Brennan couldn't believe how giddy she felt as she raised a snifter of brandy with her colleagues from the Jeffersonian at their favorite pub. Gathered around the table were the "squints", as they were affectionately called by FBI agent Seeley Booth; the Jeffersonian crew had, yet again, ingeniously solved the FBI's latest puzzle, and they reveled in the accomplishment as they waited for Booth to arrive to take part in their impromptu celebration.

Angela was laughing with Hodgins, the two clumsily trying to drink from each other's glass through intertwined arms. Zach carefully tasted the strong liquid in his glass; he was unaccustomed to brandy, and he was pleased to feel the warmth of the alcohol spread satisfactorily through his abdomen. Looking at his own hand held out in front of his face, he tried to determine whether the half glass he had already consumed had yet started to affect the sharpness of his mind and his coordination. An interesting problem, to say the least, he thought; if the alcohol had indeed diminished his capabilities, then how would he be able to recognize their loss? He voiced the question to Hodgins who rolled his eyes and, laughing even more, said "Zach, listen to yourself man, you're slurring your speech…what do you think that means?"

Zach looked nonplussed and Brennan felt the sudden need to assist him in his confusion. "It means you're intoxicated, Zach…the predictable result of consuming a beverage containing a high percentage of alcohol, especially for someone with a relatively low body mass index "she said. Angela grinned broadly, nodding her agreement. Cam was there too, and couldn't help but to shake her head at the social naiveté of the brilliant young Dr. Addy, not to mention his former mentor.

Zach nodded in slow motion, then, smiling, raised his glass again; if he had gone this far, perhaps he should take the experiment as far possible. It would be a fascinating experience to be falling-down drunk. Heck, he didn't drive anyway…

In their enthusiasm, no one at the Jeffersonian table noticed the four men who entered the pub and positioned themselves tactically around the small establishment, two remaining on either side of the entrance, one standing discreetly by the door that led to the kitchen and the rear exit, and the fourth hovering near the bar itself. Each man wore a long overcoat and was somehow able to melt into the background of the bar without actually doing anything. If Brennan had been paying attention, it would certainly have been an interesting skill to study further, this ability to camouflage oneself in plain sight. Brennan, however, was distracted, enjoying her colleagues and their playful banter while she continuously glanced towards the front door, hoping to see Booth walk in wearing the smart-ass, pleased-with-himself smile he got when the case had been solved. It was, in fact, kind of ironic that she spent such a large amount of time looking at the entrance of the pub, yet failed to recognize that there were two men standing suspiciously either side.

It was Angela who first spied Booth as he strode across the sidewalk outside. "There's Booth!" she called happily, and each of the Jeffersonians looked up as the handsome FBI agent pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped through the entrance, smiling that smile that Brennan had been waiting for. He started to lift an arm to wave but was surprised by sudden movement on either side of him. The Jeffersonian crew watched in shock as the two hidden men suddenly came into focus as they tackled Booth, one grabbing his arms and the other circling the FBI agent's neck with a thick bicep as they forcefully pushed him face down onto the floor of the pub. Booth struggled but, caught completely off-guard, he was not able to fend off the two larger men. He flailed uselessly against them, realizing that the arm around his neck was expertly placed to squeeze off the blood flow to his brain, a fairly standard police tactic that rendered a person momentarily unconscious, used to subdue violent suspects. Booth tried to speak but found himself unable to utter a sound as he felt the vise tightening around his neck. He looked up to see the stunned eyes of Bones boring into his own as he vehemently fought to stay conscious. Someone was pulling his arms painfully together in the middle of his back and, although he thrashed against the unseen men, he was powerless to stop them. The last thing he saw before finally passing out was the frightened look on Bones' face as two more men bearing submachine guns appeared from either side, effectively stopping anyone from interfering.

Brennan and her colleagues were caught completely by surprise by the unexpected attack on their friend. It was Angela's scream that jolted them out of their shocked paralysis and Brennan jumped to her feet with Hodgins in tow…they had to do something. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hodgins roared, trying to sound braver than he felt. They were stopped in their tracks by the appearance of two more men pointing guns at them. Where the heck had they been hiding? The man nearest the bar was herding the bewildered bartender towards their group; now their guns were covering everyone in the nearly empty pub and Booth was losing the fight.

Zach dropped his glass and tried to stand but Cam reached up and pulled him back into his seat by his elbow. "Easy Zach", she said, looking around at all of them. "Those aren't pop guns" she continued. "Let's not have anyone do anything foolish. I'm sure they are about to tell us what they want."

Brennan was still on her feet, scowling at the armed men, worried about Booth who apparently had just lost consciousness. "Let go of him…of his neck…" she pleaded. "If you stop the blood flow too long he could go into convulsions."

The large man with his arm around Booth's neck smiled nastily and tightened his hold even more, visibly lifting the helpless agent slightly as he flexed his bicep. "Don't you worry Cutie", Brennan's scowl deepened at the belittling moniker, "I know very well how long I can keep this on him without causing _too_ much damage." He looked down at his accomplice who was snapping shut a pair of handcuffs around Booth's wrists. As soon as the cuffs were secure, the large man released his hold on Booth's neck and the FBI agent dropped heavily to the floor, smashing his lower lip in the process.

Brennan winced and took a determined step forward. The nearest thug growled menacingly and lifted his gun to his shoulder. "I wouldn't do that Miss", he said slowly. "It's him we want…you, I could shoot no problem."

Hodgins reached out and grasped Brennan by the forearm. "Easy, Boss…" he looked over at Booth and was relieved to see his eyes starting to flutter as he fought his way back to consciousness. "He's waking up…"

The first thing Booth became aware of was a throbbing pain in his temples as he gagged on the blood that had accumulated in his mouth. He was confused and unsure of what had just happened. Spitting some blood onto the floor, he tried to move his arms but found them locked tightly behind his back. He moaned and rolled sideways and tried to sit up. The large man who had put him in the headlock shoved him down again, not allowing Booth to do so. "Who the hell are you?" Booth asked, trying to focus on the faces of the two men above him. "And what in the hell do you want?" The second man, the one who had handcuffed him sneered and rolled Booth onto his back, and reached into the agent's jacket, searching for weapons. Booth cursed silently as his pistol and cell phone were seized. The man then started running his hands down Booth's legs, looking for the inevitable back-up piece.

Booth tried to kick his hands away but the man jabbed his elbow painfully into the agent's stomach. "You better behave, Agent Booth…" he growled… "or the next hit will be lower, in a more sensitive place…if you get my meaning." Booth gasped as he tried to catch his breath, the air knocked out by the jab to his abdomen. He remained immobile as the man continued his search, triumphantly finding and removing the small pistol from Booth's ankle holster. For good measure, he grabbed Booth's keychain, making sure that his handcuff key was there.

The fourth man, who had thus far been silent, approached from the other side of the Jeffersonians' table. "Enough talk" he said brusquely. He was smaller than the other three attackers and obviously held a position of authority over them. "Pick him up and let's go." Booth tried to roll away as the two largest men bent and grabbed him by the armpits, dragging him upright but not quite enough that he could get his feet under him. The small man made it clear by the motion of his gun that he expected the others to stand and follow as Booth was dragged out the door. Brennan, Cam and Zach were herded towards the door with the bartender, Angela and Hodgins in tow. Brennan was trying to get close enough to make a grab for one of the guns but these guys were good at their job; neither man let her get anywhere near close enough to even consider fighting back.

A large cube van had pulled up to the curb at the pub's entrance. The rear door had been opened and the two men dragging Booth picked him up and threw him quickly into the back of the truck. He landed painfully on his shoulder and rolled forward until he collided with the front wall of the box. Brennan, her colleagues and the hapless bartender were forced to climb into the back of the truck with him, but not before each was quickly searched and their cell phones removed. None were carrying weapons. "Leave them here…" Booth tried to sound authoritative. "You obviously want me…you don't need them." He felt completely powerless and didn't like to think of bad things happening to Brennan and the others with him completely unable to defend them. The small man merely sneered and prodded the last of them, Zach, into the back of the truck. Booth almost winced at the confused and terrified look on the young man's face when the door was closed forcefully, crashing violently down and sealing them all in the blackness of the truck's windowless interior. The engine immediately roared to life and Zach pitched backwards as the vehicle accelerated away from the pub.

For a few moments, no one said anything and the only sound from within was the soft groan that escaped Booth as he tried to regain his balance and find a position that didn't cause his shoulders to shriek with the discomfort of having his arms cuffed tightly behind his back. Cam was the first one to speak. "Is everyone okay?" she asked tentatively. She received several grunts to the affirmative. "How about you, Booth?" she continued. "They roughed you up a bit."

"I'll live." His voice carried eerily through the darkness. "Anyone got a light?" he asked. "I'd like to get a look at where we are."

"I've got a mini-flashlight on my belt; they didn't take it away." The voice was male, unknown to Booth. A light flared and Booth caught sight of the bartender from the pub. "I'm Lenny," he said simply. "Is that better?"

Booth nodded and struggled to sit upright. Angela and Hodgins were closest and helped him to a more comfortable position. "I don't suppose any of you happen to carry a handcuff key with you, huh?" Booth asked, hoping that maybe the paranoid Hodgins wouldn't let him down. He was disappointed to see everyone shake their heads. "No? To bad…these cuffs are really digging into my wrists."

"Booth, stop whining and tell us who these guys are." Brennan's voice sounded angry. Her tone made it evident that she was blaming him for their predicament. "Why did they grab you?" She didn't really blame him, but being angry was easier than showing how scared she was…she felt especially scaredfor Booth. These men were obviously specialists and they had snatched Booth in a very professional manner; what the heck did they want him for?

Both snorted. "I have no idea Bones…maybe you should've asked them." He shuffled uncomfortably, trying to find some way to stop the cuffs biting into his skin. The truth was he had not the faintest idea of what was going on and he wasn't able to do a thing to change it. He hated feeling so out of control. "Zach, can you see if there's any way to open the back of this truck?"

Zach nodded and staggered to his feet, swaying as the truck rounded a corner, he ran his hands around the door seal. Lenny stood with the light to help. After a couple of minutes, they sat down. "It's locked from the outside," Zach said in an apologetic voice. "It won't budge." He looked around forlornly, hoping that he really was intoxicated and this was all just some drunken nightmare.

They all sat quietly, lost in their own fears about where they were being taken and what would happen when they got there. After what seemed like hours but was probably only around twenty minutes, the truck slowed, turned a couple of sharp corners then rolled to a stop. A roaring sound filled the air and for a moment, Brennan wasn't able to recognize it; Cam blurted out "That's an airplane…we must be near the airport." There was no mistaking the sound of a jet powering its way down a runway.

They were listening to this sound when the rear door of the truck was suddenly thrown upwards. Blinking at the sudden influx of light, Brennan could see that there were now five men standing with guns leveled into the back of the truck. "Everyone out", the small man instructed sternly. "Stay together and do not try anything foolish. My men will not hesitate to shoot anyone who does not comply. Do as I say and no one will be harmed." They regarded him with disbelief but, faced with no alternative, they each climbed slowly from the truck. Angela and Hodgins helped Booth get to his feet and supported him as he slid from the vehicle. He looked around to see that, sure enough, they were on the grounds of the airport; the door to a large hangar was open and they were shepherded inside. The two largest of the thugs moved in and took Booth once again by the armpits and separated him from the rest of the group. The three remaining thugs prodded Brennan, Cam, Hodgins, Angela, Zach and Lenny towards the back of the hangar where a chain link fence formed the perimeter of a secure area within the hangar. Angela noted nervously that it looked like a dog run at the kennel. They were pushed inside and the gate was closed behind, secured with a fancy looking padlock. No way would any of them be of any help to Booth now.

They stood silently and watched fearfully as Booth was held tightly by the two large men as the small man approached. Booth eyed him defiantly; "I asked you what the hell you want…" he wasn't able to finish the sentence; the small man backhanded him violently across the face and Booth stumbled, held upright by the thugs. An audible gasp came from the group locked behind the fence; Brennan felt like her heart would beat out of her chest.

"You will learn some manners, Agent Booth", the small man smiled. "As for what I want of you, I want nothing." Booth scowled, trying not to betray his fear as the ringleader of his abductors continued. "I am simply performing a service, for which I am being paid handsomely. I am a courier, Agent Booth. I simply deliver packages."

Booth felt the knot of fear twist in his stomach. "And, I'm the package?" he asked uncertainty in his voice.

"Oh you most definitely are." The small man motioned for his henchmen. "Undress him, that way we can make sure there are no tracking devices on his person." Booth's eyes opened wide and he struggled with the men holding him but it was pointless. He was held tight as a knife was produced in front of his face. "I would suggest you stop moving, Agent Booth", the small man smiled thinly. "Otherwise we might accidentally cut off something other than your clothes."

He was pushed heavily to the ground and Booth closed his eyes as the knife was used to slice off his jacket, shirt and jeans. The thugs even removed his socks and shoes leaving him shivering in only his boxer shorts. His friends from the Jeffersonian looked on, unable to do anything to help their friend.

The small man nodded. "Good, now the leg irons…" Booth was pinned to the ground as his ankles were shackled together with a set of leg irons. He was feeling more and more frightened as his situation worsened. Booth could not remember ever feeling this vulnerable. He glanced towards the group staring from behind the chain link. Brennan had never seen her partner looking quite so anxious. The look on Booth's face was heartbreaking.

Booth's eyes widened as a forklift approached carrying a large metal crate. The box was approximately 5 feet long by 5 feet wide by 4 feet high. It contained small air holes and a large warning label that read _'CAUTION, DANGER – Wild Animals – Do not touch – Do not open under any circumstances'_. The forklift stopped and the small man inserted a key opening a large padlock and pulled the door to the animal crate open.

Booth started to struggle violently, the thought of being sealed inside that crate terrified him. The cuffs bit further into his wrists and he snaked his legs back and forth, vainly trying to stop the two large thugs from lifting his body and carrying him towards the empty crate. The small man laughed, "Really Agent Booth, don't be so melodramatic." He nodded and the thrashing Booth was dumped unceremoniously into the steel box. Brennan and the others were yelling, knowing it was of no use, but feeling like they had to do something to stop this. Booth tried to roll out but was pinned again by the largest of the thugs. "Oh, I almost forgot…" the ringleader reached into his pocket and pulled a length of fabric out which he tied tightly around the FBI agent's head, through his mouth, effectively gagging him. Booth's eyes bulged in fear as the door of the crate was swung shut and the small man snapped the large padlock in place. The only sound comings from the crate were as series of muffled grunts as Booth tried to scream in frustration. The small man nodded and the forklift rumbled back to life, lifting the crate of the ground. Booth tried to calm his panicked breathing as he heard the ringleader's voice. "Have a nice flight, Agent Booth." The smile on the man's face could be heard plainly. "The cargo hold is pressurized and temperature controlled so you should arrive safe and sound. I do hope you don't get too cold…might be a bit chilly in there."

Brennan felt a tear slide down her cheek as the forklift drove away, the crate holding her terrified partner carried high in the air. From their vantage point, the group could see the forklift exit the hangar and head off across the tarmac towards a large jumbo jet in the distance. Brennan eyed the small man with fury as he approached the imprisoned group. "There you see, I promised that no one would be harmed and so it shall be." The ringleader smiled broadly. My colleagues and I will depart now. The lock on this cage can be controlled remotely." He held up a small remote control device to demonstrate. "As soon as Agent Booth's flight has safely left the ground, this door will be unlocked and you will be free to go home." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Brennan's voice was desperate. "Please, tell us…where are you sending him?"

The small man shook his head. "Now, Dr. Brennan…If I told you that, I would be betraying my client's requirement for confidentiality, now wouldn't I?" Brennan clenched her jaw, trying not to hurl insults at the evil little creep. As he turned again and started to amble out of the hangar, he called out over his shoulder, "You folks are supposed to be geniuses…you figure out where he's going."

Brennan tried to make out the markings on the jumbo jet towards which the forklift carrying Booth's crate had headed. It was just too far away and the lights of the airport didn't provide enough illumination to make out the name of the airline. Damn. After several unsuccessful attempts to force their way out of the cage, the Jeffersonians and the hapless bartender watched morosely as the jumbo jet taxied out of sight; a few moments later they heard its engines roar as the plane powered off the runway.

Brennan was crying in Angela's arms when a buzz sounded and suddenly, the door to their prison cell swung ajar. She sniffed self-consciously as Zach laid his hand awkwardly on her shoulder. "Let's go back to the lab, Dr. Brennan", he said, "We'll figure it out…you'll see. We'll call that FBI guy, Cullen. He's sure to have some idea of who would take Booth." She looked at Zach's determined, hopeful face, then over to the equally determined face of Hodgins, Cam and Angela. Hell, even Lenny looked like he was sure they could figure it all out.

"You're right Zach", Brennan agreed, trying not to let her fear show in her voice. "Let's go show them just how smart we are. We'll figure out where they took Booth and then, we'll go get him back."

To be continued…Reviews welcome


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much to all of you who took the time to review my first chapter. I'm very pleased that you like it. I would very much appreciate if you could keep reviewing my story…it motivates me to keep writing!

Chapter 2

Booth felt his pulse rate skyrocket as the forklift rumbled to life and the crate was lifted high in the air. Trying to control his panicked breathing, he fought to balance upright in a kneeling position that would allow him to peek through one of the narrow air holes near the roof of the crate. The forklift was shuttling him towards a large jet parked on the other side of the tarmac. He could see bustling activity around it as numerous workers were in the process of loading the cargo hold. He kicked hard against the side of the crate, trying to yell through the gag, rewarded only by a series of unintelligible grunting noises. Damn it… The forklift continued its approach, and an airport employee, oblivious to what was really imprisoned inside the large crate, motioned it forward onto the conveyor belt beside the plane. Booth screamed louder, kicking the metal sides of the crate with his bare feet, ignoring the pain as the leg irons bit into his ankles, hoping one of the workers would hear. He managed another look through one of the small slits and realized to his dismay that all the men surrounding the plane were wearing hearing protection, similar to the earmuffs he wore at the firearms range. There was no way any of them would hear anything over the din of the equipment.

The crate was transferred from the forklift to the conveyor belt and Booth felt it start to move slowly into the belly of the airplane. The din of the airport quieted somewhat as the crate entered the cargo hold and Booth resumed kicking the box desperately, grunting as loudly as he could manage with the damned gag tied uncomfortably through his mouth. One of the workers inside the plane signalled for his companion to stop the conveyor, noticing the thumps coming from the large crate. "Jeezuz, Eddy", Booth heard him yell. "I sure as hell hope that crate holds…whatever's in there really wants out!" Booth doubled his efforts, praying that the guy would realize that there was a man, not an animal, imprisoned in this box.

He heard a chain rattle as Eddy answered his partner. "I'm going to attach this chain tight around that crate Phil…just in case the thing inside manages to kick the door out." Booth yelled again in frustration, the noise coming out as a muffled shriek. No…no…come on guys, think about it….you've gotta help me…please…

The two airport employees fixed the chain around the crate, avoiding the small air holes, mindful of the warning about wild animals. The grunts and growls coming from the crate were frightening. "Jeezuz", Phil repeated. "Whatever it is, it must be pretty big." Eddy just nodded grimly and secured the crate into the pressurized cargo hold. He was going to be very relieved when this bird left his airport. He imagined the carnage of some wild animal, a lion maybe, running loose around the grounds. Booth watched in dismay as the two men finished loading the rest of the cargo and quickly exited the hold. He stopped kicking and felt the bile rise in his throat as the big cargo door was sealed tight and he heard the huge jet engines hum to life. Shit…

Shivering now, more from fear than from the cold, Booth was powerless to do anything at all as he felt the jet begin moving. He tried, without success, to slow his breathing, to get control over the hammering in his chest. By the time the jet was thundering down the runway, the FBI agent was curled into the corner of the crate, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes closed tight as he felt the large plane power its way off the ground. What the hell was going on …?

An image of Bones smiling flashed unexpectedly across Booth's mind. He clung to the thought desperately, trying to focus on her eyes…she was his partner…she would get help…they would figure this out…

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Brennan, Angela, Hodgins, Zach, Cam and Lenny hurriedly stepped out of the hangar onto the tarmac of the airport. The running lights of the large jumbo jet onto which the crate containing FBI agent Seeley Booth had been loaded disappeared into the clouds of the night sky as they gazed at it apprehensively. The truck in which they had arrived was no where to be seen; obviously the small man and his thugs had taken it. "Darn it all", Brennan groaned. "Any evidence we might have found in the truck is gone with them. Who could possibly want Booth so badly that they went to all that trouble to take him?"

Hodgins looked grim. His first thought was that Booth was probably grabbed by their own government, but, on reflection, he figured that was just his paranoia rearing its ugly head. US officials would not have bothered with the crate and the airplane. They would just have mocked up some reason to arrest the FBI agent and spirited him off to some secret holding facility, of which Hodgins was sure there were many. "Maybe he's been working on a secret case we don't know about", he said. "Maybe someone wants to know what he's found out."

Brennan's eyes flashed angrily. "He's my partner, he would have told me", she shot back. "How many times do I have to tell you not to make assumptions? We need to look at the facts…just the facts."

"Sweetie", Angela tried to sound soothing. "You asked what we thought; it's not going to help if you jump down our throats."

Brennan's look softened apologetically. Shaking her head, she said, "Sorry, Ange…you're right. I'm just…I don't know…pissed off, I guess…and worried about Booth…" She couldn't stop seeing in her mind's eye the terrified look on Booth's face as the crate was closed. She could only imagine the fear and confusion he was feeling locked in the cargo hold of that jet as it headed for some unknown destination. Brennan took a deep breath, stood fully upright and squared her shoulders. "Let's go back to the lab; we need to run an analysis on our clothing to see if there is any trace evidence that might help us figure out where those guys came from, who they are. I'll call the FBI and tell them what happened, ask them to send a team to go over every inch of this hangar and the pub…maybe they can find something to identify who took him." They all nodded and headed towards the lights of the airport's main building.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the Jeffersonian, Brennan seized all the clothing they were wearing, even from the protesting bartender, Lenny. Unhappily dressed in stiff white coveralls that seemed to be made of some kind of space-age paper, Lenny didn't hesitate to take off as soon as the opportunity presented itself, leaving Cam, Brennan and the team, all similarly attired, to start trying to piece together the evening's events. As soon as he received the call from Brennan, Booth's FBI boss, Sam Cullen, had demanded the jet's flight plan from the FAA and was now pacing angrily back and forth in the lab, waiting impatiently for a call advising where the plane carrying his agent was headed.

"I'll need a much better description of the men who took Booth", he growled. "The small man, especially. Surely to God you squints observed more than _'two big guys, one regular sized guy and one small guy, all wearing dark overcoats and carrying guns'_?" He grimaced. "That's got to be about the vaguest description I've ever heard!"

Cam started to say something to defend her employees when Angela interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically belligerent. "Agent Cullen…you're not helping the situation by yelling at us…we all want to find Booth!" He looked as if he would retort but was silenced by the sketch pad Angela thrust into his hands. "That is the small man…the one who was in charge." Cullen took the drawing in surprise as she continued. "That's your suspect…I don't think I quite captured the meanness in his eyes but, aside from that, I assure you, it's an accurate likeness." She was furious.

Cullen examined the drawing carefully, recognition dawning in his widened eyes. "This is the guy who took Booth?" he asked, his voice suddenly quieter. He looked grim.

The sudden change in the FBI supervisor's demeanour frightened each of the scientists gathered around him. Hodgins was the first to find his voice. "You know who he is, don't you?" he asked.

Cullen nodded, his eyes never leaving the drawing. "This man is wanted by Interpol; a worldwide fugitive….he's a specialist, a professional who can get you whatever you want, whenever you want it…works mostly out of South and Central America although we've heard he has been doing a lot of work in the States lately." Brennan and Angela looked at each other, fear on their faces as Cullen continued. "I am afraid that the only people I know who would hire him and who could afford his services are very, very dangerous …"

Cullen reached for his cell phone which was vibrating insistently on his belt. He continued to stare at the face of the man who had taken Booth as he spoke on the phone. "No flight plan was filed….how is that possible?" He scowled. "No, I can't say I'm surprised…okay, tell me, who owns that plane?" His eyes widened even more as he listened to the response. He cut the call off by flipping his cell phone shut. Looking up, he saw the eyes of each person in the room gazing at him. "We've got a lot of work to do…" he said. "This whole thing just got a lot more complicated…that jet was chartered by a company…a dummy corporation that's known to launder money for a man named Xavier de Jesus Ortez."

Brennan, who had been staring at the picture, looked up quickly. "I know a Roberto Ortez…" she said. "He's the leader of the Mara-Muerte Street Gang here in DC. Remember that case involving the illegal immigrants from El Salvador…Jose Vargas and his family? Two bodies had been exhumed from a community garden and one was found buried beside the Senator's pond." She saw her team nodding around her. "Booth and I interviewed Ortez regarding that case…he was a narcissistic chauvinist egomaniac…"

Angela's eyes widened with recognition. "Oh, no…Sweetie….that's not the guy you beat up, is it?"

Cullen interrupted. "You beat up the leader of a street gang?" He looked at Brennan disbelievingly. "What are you Lady…nuts? And where in the Hell was Booth when this happened?"

Brennan started to explain the situation when Cullen shook his head and held up his hand. "Wait, wait…it doesn't matter right now…we don't have time for this." He looked around the group, trying to decide what he should tell them. Finally, he sighed…hell, maybe the squints would be able to help him figure out where his agent had been taken if he told them the facts. His voice quiet, he sat heavily on a lab stool and started to speak. "Xavier de Jesus Ortez has been a target of the FBI for some time now. Originally from El Salvador, Ortez currently runs a large drug smuggling operation out of Miami with close links to the Colombian cartels." He looked at Brennan. "Roberto Ortez is Xavier's younger brother, the black sheep of the family. Xavier kicked Roberto out of the business as a result of the younger brother's reckless behaviour. Roberto came to DC and eventually became involved heavily with the Mara-Muerte Gang. The brothers have been estranged for years."

"Fascinating story", Cam interjected. "But what's this all got to do with Booth?"

Cullen shook his head. "Three weeks ago, a large take-down was performed by the FBI with the assistance of numerous other agencies in Miami against the Ortez organization. Arrests of Xavier and some of the other ringleaders were made based on the testimony of one crucial witness, a person who had been part of the Ortez group and was turned to provide State's evidence. That person is currently under witness protection pending his appearance before the Grand Jury, in two weeks time." He took a deep breath. "Recently, we also determined that Roberto returned to Miami after his brother's arrest and is actively involved once again in his brother's business. He has been to visit Xavier on at least three occasions at the holding facility."

"Still fascinating", Cam sounded frustrated. "But again, I have to ask, what does this have to do with Booth?"

Cullen's face was grim. "Booth is the one who recruited the witness and made all the arrangements for his protection until the Grand Jury convenes." They gazed at him, looking confused. "Remember the so-called 'vacation' Booth took recently to Florida?" No one said a word but they each nodded with new understanding. Brennan scowled, apparently her partner didn't share everything with her...why did that make her angry? The senior FBI agent paused, then, deciding that it was best to tell them everything, continued. "I am told, also, that Roberto Ortez has declared some sort of vendetta against Agent Booth, based on something that happened after your dealings with him here in DC on the Vargas case." Brennan looked up, surprised, but said nothing as Cullen continued his monologue. "It sounds to me like Roberto is using the arrest of his brother as an excuse to go after Booth; he must have known that we would move the witness as soon as Booth was abducted, yet he somehow managed to convince his brother's organization to finance the abduction."

"I don't understand," Brennan said. "Roberto Ortez would have reason to go after me, not Booth… I'm the one who beat him up…" Angela winced.

Cullen was silent for a moment, wondering whether he should tell her the rest of it. What the Hell...he had come this far. He continued, "After the Vargas case was closed, one of the agents assigned to the Street Gang Unit warned Booth that the Mara-Muerte Gang had put out a hit…on you, Dr. Brennan." Brennan looked startled and Angela felt like she might faint. "I don't have all the details but it seems that the hit was cancelled after Booth paid a visit to Roberto Ortez…alone."

"Oh my God…" Brennan sagged against the lab bench. "Booth must have threatened him, somehow…to protect me…"

"Well, whatever was said, since that plane is owned by one of Ortez' companies, it seems likely that Roberto Ortez has taken Booth. The question now is, where?" Cullen glanced at the miserable faces of the scientists assembled before him. No one had an answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks once again to those of you who were kind enough to review my story. I truly appreciate your thoughts and I welcome any further comments you may have. I must admit, getting reviews sure is great motivation to keep writing!

Chapter 3

Booth sat shivering with his knees pulled up to his chest and his back pressed into the corner of the crate; he was barely managing to control the all-encompassing claustrophobia that threatened to send him into a full-blown panic attack. This irrational fear of tight spaces had been a problem for Booth since his torment in the Middle East and he cursed himself for his weakness. 'Get a grip' …he told himself… 'it's just a box… breathe…' God, he felt pathetic. There was no lighting in the cargo hold of the plane save a couple of amber emergency lights near the huge sealed door but at least they gave off enough illumination for him to maintain some level of control. The thought of being sealed in here in complete darkness made him shudder.

He was cold now, and although he was thankful that the temperature was warm enough to cause no ill effects, Booth wished that he was wearing more than just his black boxer shorts. Trying to move, he groaned through the gag as his shoulders screamed their objection to the unnatural position of having his hands cuffed behind his back. Well, at least maybe he could do something about the gag; he started to grind his teeth against the rough fabric until he was rewarded by the sensation of some of the fibres coming apart. Okay, so maybe it could work.

It was good to have something to think about other than the enclosed space. After sitting in his cramped position gnawing for what seemed like hours, Booth finally managed to triumphantly spit the remnants of the severed piece of fabric out of his mouth and took in a deep, luxurious breath. His jaw ached and his teeth felt like they were loose but it was worth it to be free of at least one of his restraints.

He eased himself towards the centre of the crate and turned his attention to the cuffs. If he could squeeze his shackled hands over his feet then at least he would have his hands in front of his body. Lying on one side, Booth grunted and heaved his legs up as tight to his chest as possible and endeavoured to squirm his hands around his butt. He stretched until every tendon in his shoulders felt as if it would break, his knees pressed so tightly into his chest that he couldn't draw a breath...all to no avail. One of the drawbacks to having wide shoulders and muscular arms; there was just no way he was going to be able to do this. Goddamn it… He regained his seated position in the corner and hung his head forlornly, his chest heaving. At least the exertion had warmed him up a bit.

The FBI agent was trembling with the cold again by the time he felt the plane begin its descent but thankfully, the air in the cargo hold seemed to warm somewhat as the plane dropped into thicker atmosphere. He started to go over in his mind who in the hell would have gone to such trouble to abduct him and spirit him away like this. It didn't make sense. Booth could think of any number of criminals he had caught, dangerous people who might have held a grudge against him, but they would not have expended such an effort to take him; they would simply have killed him, given the chance. This was different and the audacity of the kidnap frightened him. That, and the fact that he was chained like a dog inside a locked metal crate in the belly of a jumbo jet about to land God knew where. He was really in trouble this time.

His ears popped as the jet descended even more and Booth heard a loud thump that made his heart pound. It's just the landing gear, he thought. Relax…we're going to land soon. A whirring noise signalling the motion of the jet's ailerons confirmed his thoughts. The nose of the jet rose up and he braced himself for the impact of landing with no seatbelt, suddenly realizing he was crouched in the rear of the crate, not the front end. Shit, he tried desperately to scramble to the other end to give himself some chance of staying immobile when they hit the ground. He was in the centre of the crate when the tires touched down in a not-so-perfect landing, throwing him off the floor. The huge airbrakes engaged and Booth was tossed violently into the leading wall of the steel box, striking his temple harshly on the unyielding metal. Ow…fuck…he saw stars as his head reeled and he gasped, all the air crushed out of his lungs as he was pressed into the cold steel. After what seemed like an unusually long time, the brakes were disengaged and the plane finally rolled gently out of its approach. Booth was left sprawled on the floor of his crate; he could feel blood flowing across his forehead from a gash on his head. This just couldn't get any worse… As the large jet rolled along the tarmac, the amber lights in the cargo hold went unexpectedly dark and Booth gasped in sudden fright as he was plunged into darkness. Shit…he closed his eyes tight…this could get worse after all…with each ragged breath, his heart racing, he found himself praying for this nightmare to end.

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Deputy Director Sam Cullen stood grimly as he waited for the squints to discuss their findings following their examination of the trace evidence found on their clothing which was spread across the surface of a large table in the Jeffersonian lab. Cam, Brennan and her team were seated on stools surrounding the table; even Dr. Goodman was present, standing near the end of the table with a worried expression on his face. "Okay, Dr. Brennan", Cullen almost growled. "My sources in Florida have been completely unable to get so much as a sniff on where Booth is being taken. This would be a good time for you to wow me with your magic. What have you been able to determine thus far?"

Brennan's eyes flashed with anger. "Director Cullen", she shot back. "There is no magic here…just science…unadorned and empirical. Your attitude is not helpful in this exercise."

Cullen's shoulders sagged and for a moment his face lost the tough guy expression that he was always so careful to project. He sighed and leaned his hands onto the table. "Point taken Doctor", he said quietly. "I apologize to you and your squints"…he winced at he grimaces around the table… "I mean your team." He stood to his full height once again. "I am sorry….I mean it. I'm very concerned about my agent…about Booth. Please tell me you've found something that'll help us figure out where he's been taken. We have to find him…before...before…" His voice broke on the last word and he glanced down at the table, embarrassed.

Angela's heart ached at the unexpected show of emotion on the part of the senior FBI agent. She could see the worry in the tired lines that were etched on Cullen's face. Glancing over at Brennan, she was relieved to see the anger on her friend's face had been replaced with a look of compassion. Brennan looked over at Cam and, receiving a nod from her supervisor, started to explain their findings.

"There was a large amount of trace evidence found on the clothing we seized, comprised of both organic and non-organic materials." Cullen did not interrupt, fighting the urge to tell her to get to the point. "The most interesting findings come from the organic material", Brennan continued. "We found a significant quantity of hairs and hair follicles. Hodgins was able to identify the majority as having come from a single representative of a large mammalian species indigenous to eastern Asia." She looked up to see Cullen eyeing her silently with a look of impatience on his face. "The genetic material found in the hairs was determined to come from a male specimen of the species _Ursus__thibetanus_". She allowed herself to smile towards Hodgins. "Good work Dr. Hodgins…"

"Wait, wait…" Cullen could not keep the frustration from his voice. "What kind of animal did you say?"

"_Ursus__thibetanus_…" Brennan repeated impatiently, "…More commonly referred to as the Asiatic Black Bear or the Tibetan Black Bear." Cullen stared at her blankly and she continued, speaking more quickly. "It's a medium size bear, the average weight being between 100 and 200 kg and measuring up to 190 cm in length." Still no response from Cullen... "Asiatic Black Bears inhabit the forested areas in hill and mountainous regions throughout eastern Asia…"

Unable to contain his impatience any longer, Cullen interjected. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan…" He sounded angry. Why did squints always have to be so….squinty…? "This is all very fascinating but I don't see how it is going to help us find Booth. Are you trying to say he's been sent to eastern Asia just because you found a few hairs? That doesn't make sense…"

Cam jumped into the conversation before Brennan could retort. "No, no…Director Cullen. The findings are useful in that they tell us what was transported in the truck before it was used in Booth's kidnapping." Cullen eyed her…his expression once again demanding to know how this was relevant. "The Asiatic Black Bear is quite rare, especially in North America." She continued. "There are only a half dozen specimens on the continent, with breeding couples being kept at each one of the three zoos and wildlife sanctuaries that participate in a carefully managed captive breeding program for this animal."

Cullen still didn't get it "So the truck was used during the transport of one of your bears…great…how does that get us any closer to finding Booth?"

Dr. Goodman spoke this time, interrupting Brennan and Cam who both started to answer his question. "Your suspect is part of an organization that operates out of the Miami area, correct?" He asked. Cullen nodded. "It just so happens, Mr. Cullen, that the Miami City Zoo acquired a male specimen of _Ursus__thibetanus _ from the Zoological Park here in DC only three weeks ago." Understanding dawned in Cullen's eyes as Goodman continued. "Since the truck used in Agent Booth's abduction can be linked to the transport of this bear, it logically ensues that your criminal element has associations to the Zoological Park in DC and perhaps also the City Zoo in Miami."

Cullen sat down heavily on one of the empty lab stools. "A zoo…" he said slowly. "…constant arrivals and departures of animals, feed and experts from around the world. The perfect cover for transporting illicit substances to and from the same places…" He looked at the squints as he rose to his feet. "If Ortez's organization has the Miami City Zoo on its payroll then…"

Zach spoke up for the first time. "A zoo has cages and a secure perimeter…" he said. "Sounds like the perfect place to hold something…or someone…captive." Cullen jumped to his feet and pulled out his cell phone, pausing only to glance back at the Jeffersonians as he walked away. "Thanks folks…Booth is right…you are good." He hurried towards the exit.

"Wait!" Brennan sprang to her feet and chased after him. "I'm going with you…"

Cullen stopped in his tracks, surprised. "No way, Dr. Brennan…this is an FBI matter…"

"Seeley Booth is my partner, Director Cullen." Her eyes flashed. "He's _my partner_…I am going with you…"

Cullen's face softened at the determined expression on Brennan's face. "Booth always said there was no point in arguing with you…"

"Smart man, Booth…"

Cullen nodded; hell maybe having her along would be helpful down the line. "Okay, okay…get your stuff…I'll have a jet ready to leave for Miami within the hour…and don't even think of asking me to give you a gun…not happening." He smiled forbiddingly.

Brennan returned his smile fiercely then raced to get her field kit. She found herself praying that she wouldn't need any of the excavation tools… Praying…that's a first for me, she thought grimly as she collected her things. Booth is having more effect on me than I realized…


	4. Chapter 4

Wow…you folks are very kind…thank you so much for all the wonderful comments! Fortune has smiled on me with some serial reviewers – a special thanks to you all. Please keep your reviews coming; I would very much appreciate any further comments you have and don't hesitate to offer constructive criticisms as well! I also invite reviews from those of you who are reading the story and who have not yet commented. This is only my second undertaking in writing and I value your insights.

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Chapter 4

Brennan carefully sipped a cup of tea as she scrutinized a large map of the Miami City Zoo that was spread out on the tray table before her. She occupied one of the window seats in a small FBI corporate jet that was currently flying southbound at 33,000 feet, somewhere over the state of Georgia. Deputy Director Cullen sat in the aisle seat beside Brennan's; he was leaning heavily against her, unconsciously pressing his shoulder into hers as he, too, carefully scanned the layout of the facility to which he suspected Seeley Booth was being taken.

Brennan was surprised by the sheer size of the place. When considering a "city" zoo, her mind had conjured up an image of a relatively small area filled with steel cages and unhappy animals. She could see in the schematic, however, that the Miami City Zoo covered an enormous territory, some 950 acres with literally miles of walking trails meandering through its exhibits. The facility was separated into four distinct areas, each dedicated to a particular continent of the world; she traced the perimeters for each of the African, Australian, South American and Asian zones. The latter area was no doubt where the Asiatic Black Bear from DC was housed.

Cullen suddenly became aware that he was pressing Brennan into the bulkhead. "Sorry, Dr. Brennan", he said. "Didn't mean to invade your space…I'm just trying to get a feel for the place before we arrive."

Brennan nodded, wiping a couple of drops of spilt tea off the map. "It's okay Director Cullen", she responded, returning her gaze to the paper. "I am quite amazed at the size of the facility. It's huge. How do you see our search for Booth proceeding over such an expansive area?"

"Well, first and foremost, our Miami field office has initiated the process to obtain a warrant to search the Zoo. Once we have it, not only will we have to systematically cover the entire area, we'll have to enlist the assistance of the zoo's staff of wildlife experts and keepers to make sure we don't blunder our way into an occupied lion's den. Without that warrant, we're pretty much dead in the water as far as obtaining the zoo's cooperation." He looked down at the map, a grim look on his face. "We really don't have much evidence to convince a judge; let's hope you can wow 'em when you explain the whole Asian bear / DNA thing." He looked quizzical, "You know, I am surprised that your squints were able to identify the bear that the DNA came from so quickly…"

Brennan nodded again. "I know, it generally takes a far more protracted period of time to achieve a DNA match however, we were very fortunate in that the genomes of many endangered and at-risk species have been scrupulously mapped and catalogued, particularly those being held in captive breeding programs. Using a technique called Restriction Fragment Length Polymorphism, Dr. Hodgins was able to determine the nucleotide sequence of the genetic material extracted from the intact hair follicles found on our clothing following Booth's abduction. Once the nucleotide sequence was verified, he simply had to enter the search parameters into the existing database to effect a match."

Cullen eyed her, a scowl on his face. "You will be our expert to clarify the whole thing to the court, Dr. Brennan. Dare I ask that perhaps you could find a simpler way of explaining it? …One that a judge might actually be able to follow?"

She was momentarily perplexed. "I thought I was being easy to follow…"

Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You'll do fine." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, himself or her. "…but for the benefit of us normal non-genius types, promise me you'll try to dumb it down just a little…okay?"

"…a little more, you mean." Brennan snorted. She never would understand how stating facts made some people so damned defensive. Ignoring his grimace, she turned her attention back to the map. Even once they had the warrant in hand, the zoo would take a very long time to search; she couldn't imagine how they could possibly cover every corner of the massive area in anything close to a timely fashion. There were large expanses of forested areas as well as grasslands and other habitats, not to mention numerous adjoining enclosures and veterinary facilities. They'd need an army to get it done quickly. They didn't have an army…

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Booth sighed with relief when the lights in the hold snapped back on as the plane taxied away from the landing strip. He concentrated on getting his breathing under control and willed his racing heart to slow its pounding tempo, cursing himself for letting his phobia take over again. The humidity of the air that filled the belly of the jet was thick and warm and Booth made a mental note that he was somewhere hot, maybe even tropical. He tried to estimate how much time had passed since the takeoff. Although it seemed like an eternity, he guessed it was probably somewhere in the area of four or five hours…that meant he was probably still in the United States, or maybe a bit further south in the Caribbean. Unsure of the accuracy of his time estimate however, he really was at a loss to figure out where in the hell they were.

He hit the side of the crate again as the plane jolted to a stop...ow...shit. There was a loud thump and a hiss as the seal on the cargo bay door was broken. Rolling onto his side, he was able to regain a kneeling position and peek through one of the slits along the top of the crate. Booth saw two men enter the hold and frantically began calling out to them, swearing when he received no reaction. They couldn't hear him. God Damn it… he realized that both were wearing hearing protection and were engaged in a heated conversation, yelling at each other over the din of the equipment. He waited until the crate was loaded on the conveyor and started viciously kicking the metal sides as he passed by the baggage handlers. "Come on you morons!" he screamed desperately, "Tell me you can hear this…"

The crate stopped moving and he yelled even louder, certain they had heard him, but the momentary pause was short-lived as the two men, continuing to scream at each other and completely deaf to Booth's shouted words, transferred it from the conveyor onto a forklift. "No, no, no!" he screamed in frustration, kicking the cursed box so hard it felt like the damaged bones in his feet were coming apart. This was ridiculous…how could they not hear him? The forklift whirred to life and his mobile prison cell was lifted high in the air. The forklift spun in place and headed away from the plane towards a small hangar; quiet again, his chest heaving, Booth tried to make out the company name on the building as they approached.

"_Cicero Import / Export"_ he read the name aloud. Why did that ring a bell? He tried to think…where in the hell had he heard that company's name before? Wracking his brain, he was unable to recall exactly why the name was familiar.

The forklift rumbled through the large entrance to the hangar and Booth could hear the hangar door being closed as the vehicle came to a stop and his crate was lowered to the ground. The interior of the building was relatively quiet and he started yelling again, his voice hoarse with the effort. "Hey, hey…in here!" A wave of relief washed over him as his cries finally received a reaction from some of the men in the hangar. He watched as several cautiously approached the crate, one of them waving to an unseen supervisor. Booth continued shouting. "Help me! Federal Agent…I'm in here…!" He kicked again at the side of the box. "Open the crate!"

"Shut the hell up, Agent Booth! You have no friends here…" a cold voice silenced his cries, a man with a Hispanic accent… Holy shit…he recognized that voice. Booth swallowed involuntarily as realization dawned and the memory of a cruel face with an ugly tattoo on one cheek flashed across his mind. His fears were confirmed when the chain was removed and the door to the crate swung open. Roberto Ortez stood in front of him, gloating; he wore a nasty smirk on his face and four men were standing in formation behind. Holy shit…. Booth remembered the last time he had seen Ortez, recalling vividly the threats he himself had made against the one-time head of the DC chapter of the Mara-Muerte. Booth had placed his gun in Ortez's mouth, vowing to hunt him down if something were to happen to Dr. Brennan…and meaning every word. The threat had saved his partner's life when the coward Ortez cancelled the hit. Booth wasn't proud of his actions but he sure as hell hadn't regretted them.

He closed his eyes...Holy shit…he knew was going to pay for them now. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs and suddenly was having difficulty breathing. Oh fuck…


	5. Chapter 5

I apologize for taking so long to update my story….work's been crazy lately. It's only a short chapter but I figured you'd want to know what's going on. Thanks as always for all the wonderful reviews! Please don't stop letting me know what you think; I very much appreciate all of your comments.

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The look on Ortez's face was one that could only be described as nasty anticipation; the cruel smile the gangster wore made it clear that he had very much been looking forward to seeing Seeley Booth again. "Yes, it's me, Agent Booth" he said. "I knew that you would recognize me." The tattoo on his cheek rippled as Ortez's nasty grin widened even further. "You know, I was very disappointed with the lack of respect you demonstrated towards me the last time we met" he snarled menacingly. "You must have known that I could never allow such disrespect to go unpunished…"

Booth tried to sound nonchalant as he finally found his voice. "Well, I'll be damned…Roberto Ortez…you're looking just as ugly as ever." His lips pulled back into a tight grimace. "You know I could recommend a good plastic surgeon to take that thing off your face…" Booth knew that baiting Ortez wasn't necessarily the smartest move for someone in his situation but it sure as hell beat cowering like a scared dog. Ortez's smile disappeared and he took a step back, barking orders to his assembled thugs to drag the FBI agent out of the metal box, by his ears if necessary.

Ignoring the rush of pain as the handcuffs cut into the already black-and-blue skin around his wrists, Booth pressed his back firmly into the rear wall of the crate, readying himself for what he knew was coming. Two of Ortez's thugs stepped forward, reached into the metal box and made a grab for his legs to haul him out. Avoiding their hands, Booth drew his knees up to his chest, forcing them to lean even deeper into the crate… He knew that he was completely outnumbered and hopelessly restrained but there was no fucking way he was going to just sit here and passively submit to Ortez's demands… He waited until the thugs were leaning off-balance half inside the shipping crate, then, with his shoulders braced against the cold metal, Booth lashed out, his shackled legs slicing through the air with lightning speed as his coiled muscles released a violent succession of kicks toward the unsuspecting thugs. The closest man was caught completely off guard with a smashing blow to the chin; his head snapped back with a sickening snap and he crumpled to the ground. Booth's second kick lashed sideways, hammering the second thug brutally with both feet just above the elbow. The man screamed as his elbow bent the wrong way, Whimpering, he withdrew quickly, falling onto his backside as he retreated, cradling his broken arm and eyeing the FBI agent with loathing.

Booth fought to sit upright again as the two remaining thugs surged forward. He managed to get a few more shots in with his feet before his flailing body was hauled unceremoniously out of the crate and thrown heavily to the concrete floor of the hangar. 'Here we go' Booth thought as Ortez stalked towards him, his face a mask of fury. Booth pulled his knees up into his chest again, trying to protect himself, his eyes clenched tightly shut as the screaming Ortez unleashed a series of vicious kicks into the torso of the handcuffed, shackled, and helpless FBI agent. Booth grunted loudly as all the air was slammed out of his lungs; pain seared through his ribcage, increasing in intensity with each kick the gangster delivered. He tried desperately to roll away from his enraged assailant, unable to draw a breath as the blows continued to smash without mercy again and again into his ribs.

Finally exhausted, Ortez stopped the attack. With his chest heaving, he stood back and drew a pistol right-handed from behind his back. Kneeling cruelly on Booth's chest with one knee, the gangster reached down with his left hand and grasped the battered agent firmly by the chin, holding his head immobile. Booth thrashed his body side to side but was unable to break free as Ortez, who was grinning maniacally, forced the barrel of the pistol into Booth's mouth. The agent gagged and coughed as the gun was pressed into the back of his throat and he found himself wondering if he was about to die.

"You will learn some manners, Agent Booth" Ortez hissed, "…and I am going to enjoy teaching them to you…" Smiling, he pulled the pistol out of Booth's mouth and swung the firearm down sideways, brutally smashing Booth hard across the left side of his face and lacerating the skin over the cheekbone. Ortez stood to his full height and stomped one foot down harshly onto the FBI agent's chest, causing Booth to cry out in pain. "That was lesson one, Agent Booth" Ortez spat. "We're just getting warmed up…"

Booth gasped for air as the blood dripped from his face and he struggled vainly to breathe. His chest was on fire. After what seemed like forever, he was finally… gratefully… able to suck in some much-needed oxygen. 'Ouch… oh fuck… He knew at least a couple of his ribs were broken and he just hoped he hadn't punctured a lung as well; it sure as hell felt like it. Damn it…

Booth's head continued to spin as Ortez turned and walked towards a large black sedan that was parked at the other end of the hangar, gesturing for his men to follow him. The FBI agent grunted in pain as his body was lifted roughly off the concrete and he was half-dragged, half-carried towards the car. His eyes widened in fear as two more men got out of the car and popped open the trunk as they approached. No... …no fucking way…not in the trunk… God, no… Booth felt panic rising at the thought of being locked in the small space; he began to thrash against his captors, desperately struggling against the restraints on his hands and feet. His efforts were useless and he cursed at them as he was dumped roughly into the trunk of the sedan. The pain in his chest momentarily forgotten, Booth felt the bile rising in his throat as sheer panic flooded over him. He heard himself pleading as the trunk lid was slammed shut and he was plunged into darkness.

His breath was coming in ragged gasps and he closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of self-control, anything to stop his phobia from taking over. Breathe…just breathe…. Booth opened his eyes to utter darkness, and snapped them shut again in terror. His distress increased even more as the vehicle accelerated forward and he was thrown blindly against the rear of the trunk. He could feel the cramped space closing around him; it felt like he was suffocating. The memories surfaced, unwanted, uncontrollable. An image of the filthy, vermin-infested and impossibly cramped "isolation" cell in which he was kept during his captivity and torture in the Middle East flashed across his mind. He could once again feel the unseen scorpions crawling over his body in the dark and had to bite back the scream that threatened to come. Oh God…. It felt like his heart was about to explode…. He hadn't had a flashback in years…

"Breathe… I'm just in a car… breathe… I'm just in a car … breathe… I'm just in a car …" Booth spoke the words aloud over and over, trying to force the nightmarish Gulf War experience from his mind. He kept his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pain of his broken ribs instead of the horrors in his memory. Somehow Booth managed to find a small level of control as he repeated his mantra over and over. "Breathe… I'm just in a car… breathe… I'm just in a car … breathe… I'm just in a car …"

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Dr. Temperance Brennan paced impatiently up and down the hallway outside the judge's chambers in the Miami courthouse. She was seething; it had been over two hours since they had arrived in Miami and the judge was still waffling on the warrant. Two hours that they could have been using to search for her partner had been wasted. She snorted in disgust.

She stopped pacing and looked up hopefully as the door opened and FBI Deputy Director Cullen finally appeared. He had a look of angry triumph on his face and he carried an envelope. "He finally signed it" Cullen's voice was sullen. He tucked the papers into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "I had to push hard for this one though…the judge didn't want to take the chance he might look bad…the Bastard. This is one of my agents we're talking about here…" Cullen looked like he was ready to shoot someone. Brennan found herself wondering just how hard the Deputy Director really had "pushed" and wishing she had been there to help.

She sighed with relief…they finally had the warrant. Why did the words 'Thank God' suddenly come to mind? Booth was definitely corrupting her…it wasn't as if any supernatural power had interceded on their behalf ... not scientifically feasible at all, she told herself. "Booth…we're coming" she quietly whispered as she followed Cullen to his truck. "Hang on Seeley….we'll find you". Brennan shook her head self-consciously. She knew empirically that Booth could not possibly hear her and yet she was strangely comforted by the irrational hope that, somehow, he would.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello again to all my readers. Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews. I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter but my work has been crazy lately…working ridiculously long days so I just haven't had the time to sit down to write. I will try to update more often. Please don't stop letting me know what you think about my story.

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Brennan tried to remain hopeful as she and Cullen listened as the chief of operations at the Miami City Zoo, a hostile man of about forty, described the layout of the huge facility. Mr. Jorgenson was definitely not happy with the mandate given to the FBI to search his zoo and he sniffed with derision each time a question was asked. Cullen secretly wanted to pound the man into a million little pieces but he managed to control the impulse. He needed the zoo employees if he was gong to search this place. A large diagram of the facility, its habitats and its administrative and veterinary facilities illuminated the huge screen at one end of the conference room. How in the world could they possibly search such a huge area, much of which was populated by a variety of wild and sometimes dangerous animals?

Ignoring the aggravating zoo manager, Cullen eyed the map, a search plan forming in his head. "We will begin with the administrative offices and the main veterinary clinic" he said. "Teams one and two will cover these areas while the remaining three teams begin the search of the animal habitats. They will start with the Asian territory and go over the zones, one by one." He looked grim…he had five teams, each one made up of three FBI agents, ten Miami City police officers and two zoo employees. The numbers were woefully inadequate; he knew it would take days to carefully explore every nook and cranny of the enormous facility in hopes of finding one captive agent. He also knew that Booth's chances of surviving this ordeal grew slimmer with each passing hour. He sighed and glanced at the forensic anthropologist who sat silently at his side. "Dr. Brennan, we'll be on team number one. I want you with me to search the veterinary and research areas."

Brennan was about to protest; she felt sure that Booth would be held in some distant part of the zoo, well away from the prying eyes of administrative staff. The look on Deputy Director Cullen's face however, made it obvious that any protest would be pointless; she could see his grim determination as well as the barely controlled anger threatening to explode at any provocation. She wisely decided to yield to the obviously volatile agent's wishes.

Team number one was assembled in the atrium located on the edge of the conference room. Mr. Jorgenson would be one of the employees escorting their team and Brennan eyed him suspiciously. She found herself calculating the probability that this man was in cahoots with Ortez's criminal organization. It made sense that someone high up in the zoo's administration was involved if the zoo was being used to smuggle drugs and other illicit items, and the man's undisguised disdain for their efforts made her wish she could get him alone in a small room to knock some sense into him…or find out what he really knew…

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Booth's breathing was shallow and rapid but under control and he was able to recognize the sound of a gate being opened as the vehicle slowed and turned a corner. The agony in his shoulders from the now hours-long discomfort of having his hands cuffed behind his back almost overshadowed the pain he felt searing through his battered ribs every time he took a breath. Ow…shit… Focusing on the pain enabled him to overcome his anxiety and he was almost thankful for its presence.

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness of the car's trunk; there was absolutely no light at all. The amount of time he had been in the car was difficult to assess, his near panic attack having ruined any chance of rational thought for an indeterminable period at the beginning of the drive. He felt the car accelerate once again and heard the gate closing behind. Where the hell were they taking him? Booth guessed they had been traveling for about half an hour but had no way to be sure. He grunted as his body was thrown back and forth into the sides of the cramped space as the vehicle sped along what was obviously a twisting roadway and he found himself wishing they would just get there…wherever there was. He'd rather face another beating than spend any more time locked in this damn trunk.

Finally, Booth felt the vehicle slowing; it turned a corner and rolled to a gentle stop. He listened intently as the car doors opened and several pairs of feet stepped out onto pavement. There was some shuffling around and Booth heard the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun being loaded. His heart rate sky-rocketed. Damn… He wondered if they would just shoot him through the metal of the trunk lid and get it over with, but then heard Ortez's voice, "Take him inside boys… If the bastard tries to kick you when you open the trunk, break his legs…" Booth gulped. His body was so stiff and sore he doubted that a kick would have even been possible, but Ortez's words made it clear it would be the wrong thing to do anyway…for now.

One of the goons pressed the trunk release button and the rear hatch sprang suddenly upwards, surprising the captive agent who jammed his eyes shut against the blinding light from outside. He opened them again immediately, squinting against the glare as his eyes adjusted. It was daylight; the sun was warm and the air very humid. Booth blinked in confusion. He was sure that it was still night but obviously more time had passed than he had figured since the abduction late yesterday afternoon… 'I think it was yesterday…' he thought blearily. He couldn't even be sure of that…

He was still attempting to work out what day it was when two of Ortez's thugs cautiously leaned into the trunk and gripped him roughly by the elbows. Booth offered no resistance as he was hauled out of the vehicle and dragged towards a nearby low concrete building, his bare feet scraping against the coarse pavement. A third man stood to one side, the shotgun at the ready. Ortez was nowhere in sight. Part of Booth's mind registered that the building looked like a bunker. He could see lush palm trees and thick vegetation surrounding it… this was definitely someplace tropical.

An oddly familiar and yet unfamiliar smell caught his nostrils; the odour brought his uncle's cattle farm to mind, but the smell was wrong somehow…not cows for sure….but maybe some other kind of farm? Try as he might, Booth was unable to come up with any reasonable guesses as to where he might be. El Salvador? Colombia? Florida? He really had no idea at all.

The two thugs dragged Booth through a low doorway and into a surprisingly clean-looking room. The walls were painted white and were illuminated by a row of fluorescent lights and there was a large rectangular stainless steel table, about seven feet long, in the middle of the floor. His immediate thought was that this was some kind of morgue and he shuddered involuntarily. Booth tried and failed to remain silent as he was thrown roughly to the ground, groaning loudly as his broken ribs struck the unyielding concrete floor. Trying to regain his breath, Booth gasped as one of the thugs prodded his bruised chest with the toe of a pointed cowboy boot. "Stay here Fed", the thug said icily in a Hispanic accent. "If you try to go anywhere, I swear, I'll break your knees…"

Booth bit back the retort that threatened to come. He was in no position to provoke these people. The thugs left the room, closing and locking the door behind them and leaving their captive sprawled on the floor. He rolled to one side and tried to sit up, changing his mind at the searing protest the movement caused in his ribcage. Damn…

The room was cold and Booth recognized the hiss of an air conditioner somewhere nearby. He rolled onto his opposite side and tried again to ease his body into a sitting position. The ribs whined again but he ignored them and was finally able to muscle his body upright, panting heavily with the effort. He leaned his back against the side of the steel table and closed his eyes momentarily, trying to figure out a way out of this…any way…

There was a quiet coughing sound as someone nearby cleared their throat and Booth jerked his eyes open in alarm. Had he been sleeping? Damn it… A woman stood in the corner of the room, pushing the door closed with her back as she stared at him. She looked to be around thirty five years old with long dark hair and a Mediterranean complexion. She wore a white lab coat and regarded him with a mixture of fear and pity on her face.

"Oh dear, what have they done to you?" she asked quietly. Her voice was soft; the accent indicative of a Spanish mother tongue. Booth eyed her suspiciously, not trusting the sympathetic look she was giving him. She walked forward cautiously, knelt at his side and ran her hands lightly over his bruised face. "They told me you needed cleaning up, not that you were hurt…"

Booth flinched as her hands gently probed the laceration on his cheek. "Where am I…?" he asked. "What is this place?"

"Shhhhh…" She placed a finger on his lips. "Don't ask…I cannot answer any of your questions anyway."

"Can't or won't?" Booth scowled as she ran a finger over the cut on his chin and he angrily pulled his face away from her touch. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"You can call me Marianna…but that is all I will tell you." Her brown eyes were brimming with compassion and he found it hard to distrust her. "She reached out and determinedly took his chin in her hand again; with his back pressed into the side of the table, he could not avoid her touch. She leaned back, letting her eyes travel over his bruised body and he suddenly became self-conscious of the fact that he was naked with the exception of the now-tattered boxer shorts. If Marianna was aware of his embarrassment she did not show it. "We must get you cleaned up so I can examine you for more serious injuries…"

"Are you a doctor then, Marianna?" Booth asked, twisting sideways as her fingers ran down his chest towards his belly button. Damn, that tickles…

"Of a sort…" she smiled and reached down into the pocket of her lab coat to produce a handcuff key. "I will remove the restraints but first I must warn you…there are armed guards right outside the door with orders to shoot you in the legs if you try to flee. Roberto wants you alive…"

"Oh, he's Roberto to you, is he?" Booth snarled, his look becoming hostile. She could not be trusted. "How very chummy… Who is he to you anyway? A lover? …" He noticed the wedding band on her left hand. "A husband? You must enjoy being hurt…"

She did not answer but Booth almost regretted his words at the look of despair that suddenly invaded Marianna's pretty face. He was definitely missing something but she clammed up and refused to say any more about it. Her face became cold as she held out the key. "Promise me you will not try to escape and I will remove the handcuffs and leg irons." He looked away and she grimaced. "If you do not promise, then I will simply remove what is left of your clothing and hose you down…"

He glanced up at her quickly; the angry look in her eyes made it clear that the threat was no bluff. He looked down at his shackled feet. "I promise…" he almost whispered. "I'll be good." Goddamn it, he felt weak. Anything to get the cuffs and irons off…he'd be good…for now.

She sighed in relief and a little smile returned to her face. She unlocked the leg irons first, tossing them to the side. He leaned forward, allowing her to reach the handcuffs behind his back. Marianna was not accustomed to the double locking mechanism of the cuffs and it took her several minutes to free his hands.

True to his word, Booth did not try to run. He sighed with relief and stretched his arms over his head, luxuriating in the warm sensation of the blood returning to his hands. His aching shoulders didn't want to flex but he knew the stiffness would pass. Marianna allowed him to stretch his bruised body for a few moments then stood up and offered a hand to help him stand. "Come with me Agent Booth…we'll get you cleaned up."

Booth hesitated a moment then took her hand and tried to stand. His legs were shaky and refused to work properly and Marianna was forced to reach down and half lift the large man off the floor. She was surprisingly strong and he leaned heavily on her until the muscles in his legs solidified. He wrapped one arm carefully around his ribs as she led him towards another door at the back of the building, opening it to reveal a large tiled bathroom. Glancing quickly around, Booth was disappointed to see it had no windows.

"If you think you can manage to get cleaned up on our own, I will allow it." He shot an angry look at her but Marianna's expression remained unemotional, almost clinical. She pointed to a small supply of toiletries, including a safety razor and toothbrush. "There is plenty of hot water. When you are done, I will examine you…" He started to protest and she held up her hand. "You have no choice in the matter. Once the examination is complete, I will see what I can do about getting you some clothes…"

Booth looked around the small bathroom. The truth was, he needed desperately to empty his bladder and a hot shower would feel great. He nodded in resignation. She closed the door and he overheard as she summoned one of the thugs in to guard the bathroom door while she went to retrieve some supplies. Booth sighed and rubbed a hand over his painful ribs. Who the hell was she? Where the hell were they?


	7. Chapter 7

Hello everyone…yes, I am still alive and have finally started writing again. I must apologize for letting this story sit un-updated for so long. I do intend to finish it and I hope you will forgive my period of writer's block and competing priorities. Thanks to all of you who reviewed my last chapter way back when…I very much appreciated your comments and I offer special thanks to those of you who sent me emails to kick me in the butt and encourage me to get writing again. I hope you like the rest of the story; please keep reviewing. So here we go…chapter 7….

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Booth stood with eyes closed, head tilted forward, his chin resting on his chest as he savored the warmth of the water running over his battered body. He stretched tentatively, relishing the sensation as the myriad of knots and contusions in his sore muscles seemed to melt away under the ministrations of the soothing hot water. The shower really was a good idea. He opened his eyes exhaustedly, never lifting his head as the accumulated dirt, blood and sweat rolled off his body. He grimly watched the filth swirl its way down the drain and found himself wondering just how much time had passed since he had walked into that pub…ten hours? …twelve? Hell, for all he knew it could have been more than a day. He felt disoriented and confused. What in God's name was happening here?

Try as he might, his tired mind couldn't come up with any reasonable motive for Roberto Ortez to go to this much trouble to take him. Sure, Ortez had every reason to hate him, so why not just kill him when he had the chance? It didn't make sense. Booth was sure that it had something to do with the capture of Xavier de Jesus Ortez, but there was no way Roberto Ortez could use a captured FBI agent to free his brother or silence a protected witness.

His musings were interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door. Booth had just managed to turn off the water when the door swung wide and Marianna strode in carrying a stack of towels in the crook of her right arm and what looked like a doctor's medical bag in her left hand. He yelped in embarrassment and turned away quickly. "Do you mind?" he growled. "Give me a towel…."

"No, I don't mind," she answered. Marianna seemed oblivious to the fact that he was naked. Her face revealed no emotion as she ran her eyes over the well-muscled agent's body, wincing at the large ugly bruises radiating over his torso. She hissed disapprovingly, placed the medical bag on the tiled floor, then unfolded a large towel and reached forward to dry his skin. He grabbed the towel from her hands and stepped away quickly, pulling it around his hips as he tried to regain his composure, ignoring the jab of pain as his ribs protested the sudden movement.

Marianna cocked her head curiously to one side, surprised by the agent's obvious embarrassment. "Agent Booth…do not be childish…I need to examine your injuries."

Booth scowled, "You still haven't said who you are or why I'm here…doesn't make me feel too cooperative…How do I know that you're even a doctor? ...you could be a pervert for all I know…"

She sighed and her expression hardened. " You will be examined…it is your choice as to whether you sit still and allow it, or whether I have Juan and Diego come in here to restrain you …" She picked up the medical bag and waved a hand towards the door where two armed men, presumably Juan and Diego, now stood. "So how would you like to proceed, Agent Booth?"

Booth's scowl deepened and he clutched the towel tighter to his waist. He didn't seem to have a lot of options. Damn it… "Alright, it's your game, for now," he said, his voice flat. "I will let you have a look at me… but just you…" He nodded towards the two at the door. "They can wait outside…"

Marianna shook her head and grabbed him firmly by the elbow. "You have no say in who stays or who goes, Agent Booth…" She steered him out of the bathroom and towards the metal table in the larger room. "They will remain to make sure that you don't change your mind…" She spoke quickly to the two men in Spanish and they took up position on either side of the exit as she patted the metal table which was now covered by a white sheet. "Lay down…"

Booth eyed the two men for a moment, weighing the likelihood disarming both of them in his current state. The odds were definitely not on his side. He sighed and did as he was told, the towel still tightly gripped around his hips as he slid onto the table, wincing at the surge of pain the new position provoked.

Her hands felt warm as she probed his bruised ribcage, withdrawing quickly when he gasped in pain. She replaced her hands, a determined look on her face, this time pushing her fingers deeper into his skin despite his obvious discomfort. "Ow…hey, yeah that hurts…stop poking me…" She ignored his words and pressed into his torso more forcefully, this time using the palm of her hand. Booth cringed and tried to sit up. "I said stop…."

Marianna glared at him and pushed him back down on the table. "You agreed to be examined, Agent Booth…" her tone reminded him somehow of his own mother. "Now, be a good boy and lie still, or else…" He hated being spoken to as if he were a child and said so. "Well stop acting like one…" Marianna responded in an impatient voice. "This is for your own good you know…"

Booth felt his anger rising. "_My own good_…" he snarled. "Who the hell do you think you are Lady?" He slapped her hands away and forced his way into a sitting position. "I was tackled, knocked out, chained like a freaking dog inside a goddamned crate in the belly of an aircraft going God knows where, beaten up by your boss then dragged here in the trunk of a freaking car…"

As he continued his rant, Marianna sighed, stepped back and signaled the two men standing by the door to approach. "I will say this again…" she scowled, "…and for the last time. If you do not allow me to look at you, you will be restrained. Now, lay down." Immobile, Booth glowered at Juan and Diego as they crossed the floor, his face defiant.

His expression changed abruptly and he regretted provoking her the moment he saw the Taser in Diego's hand. Oh shit…bad idea. He raised his hands… too late. The Taser fired and Booth tried unsuccessfully to dodge the small dart-like projectiles. They punctured the skin on his forearm and the agent convulsed as the electric shock was delivered. He grunted in pain, his eyes clamped shut.

Marianna screamed and leapt towards Diego. "No, no, no…just restrain him….hold him down…not this…" Diego ignored her, his finger on the trigger, delivering another jolt to the incapacitated, groaning Booth. She grabbed the man's arm, "I said NO! You're hurting him…." Diego finally lowered the weapon and Booth collapsed, his body pitching forward onto the tiled floor. Mercifully, he was only partially aware of the sudden screaming pain in his ribs when his torso struck the hard surface. The Taser left him completely disoriented and unable to control his muscles. He was aware and yet not aware of Marianna as she pulled the Taser darts out of his forearm, rolled him onto his side and checked his vital signs. The two goons retreated to their posts on either side of the door under her furious glare, Diego shrugging, a cruel smirk on his face.

His breathing was ragged and, as sensation came back into his body, Booth moaned in agony from the increased pressure in his chest. He felt like a fish out of water and fought to suck as much air as possible into his lungs. Marianna quickly pulled out a stethoscope and pressed it into his back. Her face became grim and she glared at the two goons standing by the door. "You go too far, you idiots," she said coldly. "I was told he would not be harmed further…that was completely unnecessary."

Diego just stared back unspeaking, a cold look on his face. Juan snorted. "You wanted him restrained…. Well, he's not fighting anymore is he?"

She shot them one last scathing look and turned her attention back to the agent writhing on the floor. "Agent Booth…" she said, "I am sorry. I did not intend for such a weapon to be used."

He scowled at her, the pain that was flaring in his ribcage evident in the lines etched on his face. "So I've got busted ribs…" he managed to gasp. "Why can't I breathe? It feels like someone parked a truck on my chest…"

"One of your ribs must have punctured your lung when you fell off the table." Marianna looked concerned. "Can you get up?" He struggled to rise, the towel forgotten, cringing as she half dragged him back onto the table. Marianna quickly covered his naked body with a sheet then pressed the stethoscope against his chest, her eyes closing as she listened to his ragged breathing and racing heartbeat. Her face became grim and she opened her eyes. "Your chest cavity is filling with air, Agent Booth," she said. "We must get the air out…"

His eyes widened as he watched her quickly pull a length of clear tubing and a scalpel out of one of the metal drawers under the table; hanging the tubing around her neck, she found a bottle of alcohol and began pouring the liquid over the scalpel blade. "Wait, wait…" he gasped, once again trying to sit up. "I don't even like needles…that knife is freaking me out…" He tried to continue but the pressure building in his chest seemed to choke off his words.

She pressed him back down then threw a glance towards Juan and Diego. "You two, get over here now and hold him down…" The two goons approached and Booth felt his panic rising as they held him firmly against the table, looks of cruel pleasure on their faces. He struggled against their grip, hissing loudly as the movement caused the fire in his chest to blaze even more. Marianna put a hand on his shoulder and locked her eyes on his. "Please…you must lie still, Agent Booth. I must in put a chest tube to release the pressure…" The look on her face made him stop struggling; he gritted his teeth and nodded. Marianna took a deep breath and splashed some of the alcohol over his torso. Using her left hand to feel for the space between his ribs, she tentatively pushed the scalpel blade against his skin. Booth cried out and jerked his body away, in spite of himself. Marianna pulled the blade back quickly and growled at the goons. "I said hold him! Tightly…don't let him move!" Booth gasped as the two men pressed their bodies into his, pinning him down; he steeled himself for the pain as Marianna brought the scalpel down forcefully, no hesitation this time. He clenched his teeth, allowing only a low moan to escape his lips as she cut into his chest wall, quickly inserted the tube and taped it in place.

The burning from the incision suddenly didn't seem so bad as the pressure inside his ribcage mercifully began to ease. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his racing pulse, savoring the sensation of his lungs expanding. Breathing easier, he opened his eyes and looked at Marianna. "Thank you…" he rasped. "That's better…"

The grim line of Marianna's mouth turned into a small smile of relief. "You are welcome….now don't move." She waved Juan and Diego back to their position by the door and glanced back to her patient, who was shifting uncomfortable on the table. "I mean it Agent Booth….don't move. That's the first time I have ever put in a chest tube and I want to make sure it doesn't fall out."

He glanced at her quickly. "What do you mean…the first time?" he asked. "I thought you said you were a doctor…"

Her smile increased and she looked mischievous. "I said I was a doctor, _of a sort_…" He eyed her, not understanding. "I am a veterinarian," she finally stated. "…specializing in large animals…" His eyes widened and she continued. "…although, technically I guess you would qualify as a large animal…"

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Brennan found herself pacing furiously in the atrium of the Miami Zoo's administrative building. This was taking far too long. The teams searching the habitat zones were only about a third done and her own search of the veterinary facilities with Cullen had been interrupted by an urgent call for the Deputy Director. After a few terse words spoken on his cell phone, Cullen insisted they go back to the office so he could use a land line. He had been on the phone for over twenty minutes and she was seething when he finally opened the office door and motioned for her to come inside.

"Deputy Cullen'" she growled. "This is ridiculous…Booth is out there somewhere and you stop our search to take a phone call…" She looked like she was ready to punch someone.

Cullen raised a hand. "Enough, Dr. Brennan…enough! We don't have time for this." When she stopped ranting he continued. "The Bureau received a communication from the Ortez network…maybe even from Roberto himself…" Brennan's mouth closed and she eyed the Deputy Director grimly as he went on. "They have confirmed that they are holding Agent Booth." Brennan realized that Cullen was just barely managing to control his own anger and did not dare interrupt. "They are threatening to kill Booth if we don't drop the charges against Xavier and release him from prison." He sat down heavily on the corner of the desk. "They also want us to produce the witness."

Brennan scowled. "That doesn't make sense. Ortez must know that the Bureau could not make a deal like that, no matter what they threatened to do to Booth."

Cullen nodded. "I know…but they are giving us 24 hours to meet their demands…or else Booth is dead."

Brennan was silent for several seconds and then stared at Cullen, a look of determination on her face. "Well then, we better find him fast."


End file.
